


A Shot in the Dark, December 1977

by BobbyCrocker101



Category: Kojak (TV 1973)
Genre: 1970s, Accidental Shootings, Detectives, Fences, Fur Heists, Gen, Manhattan South, NYPD, New York City, homicides, murders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23297773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobbyCrocker101/pseuds/BobbyCrocker101
Summary: Kojak’s thoughts concerning the events that occurred in the Season 4 episode ‘Kiss it All Good-Bye’ with a few changes and bits added.This is an original story set in December 1977Feedback welcome





	A Shot in the Dark, December 1977

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters belong to me; I'm just playing with them for a while before putting them back in their box. No money is being, or will be made from this story.
> 
> I was 15 in September 1973 when "Kojak" first aired, and had other things to do. Now I'm retired I’ve finally watched this wonderful old TV show for the first time. I’m from the UK and have never visited the US, but have made use of the internet to gain information about the NYPD and the city of New York. I apologise in advance for any language confusion.
> 
> In the Season 2 episode “Nursemaid” (1974) Crocker’s ID shows him to have been born in 1943 which would make him 34 in 1977, but because he's occasionally referred to as being very young and is often called "Kid" or "Junior", my version of him was born in 1951 which makes him 26 in this story, and since little is known about his back story I've made up my own version.
> 
> Spoilers: Tiny spoiler for the Season 2 episode 'Unwanted Partners' and my story 'Moving On'. A familiarity with the show would also be useful but not essential
> 
> Original characters: None
> 
> Enjoy!

It was just after 2am when I arrived outside Burbridge’s fur shop at 345 7th Avenue. This was the sixth fur shop heist this year and we were no nearer to catching whoever was responsible. A scene of organized chaos lay in front of me. The shop had been broken into, valuable furs stolen and an innocent young girl had been accidentally shot and was being loaded into the back of an ambulance. She’d apparently been hit by Crocker while he and Saperstein had been chasing one of the raiders. I looked across at my two detectives and noticed Saperstein was standing protectively next to Crocker who had his head down. I called their names. For a few seconds Crocker didn’t react and then after a nudge from Saperstein they came over. Crocker briefly glanced at me as he passed; he looked as if he was in shock. 

Together the three of us entered the store. Leaving Crocker to assist Stavros with the investigation Saperstein and I went to see how much had been taken. He reported that Stavros had received an anonymous phone call about the robbery and he’d contacted Central who had relayed the message to him and Crocker and they’d responded to the call as requested. He’d entered the building from the front and Crocker had gone round the back. They’d spotted two people; both male. He’d taken out the one who was currently lying in the other room and Crocker had chased his partner. Between us we worked out that about a quarter of a million dollars-worth of furs had been taken, which would be only be worth about fifty thousand to a 'fence': so much for their business sense. Saperstein had found the deceased's wallet which had contained his driver’s licence; Jamie Webb, aged twenty-eight, and living on 43rd Street. I asked him to find out what he could about the man, particularly anything that related to people.

Stavros was checking the vault and reported that C4 had been used to ‘split' the 'box’, just as it had been in the previous five robberies in the area. That MO was getting monotonous I told him and I asked what else was 'new', but no one was saying anything; everyone was suddenly very busy. I looked across at Crocker who was sitting at a small table staring into space. I sarcastically asked him if he’d care to join the rest of us, but he looked as if he were on another planet, and actually jumped when I called his name. I walked over to him and quietly ordered him to come with me, and taking his badge off he slowly followed me to the rear of the premises.

Standing in the dark corridor I asked him if he could identify the guy he’d chased; he said no, he couldn’t. I asked why not; he said the guy was ahead of him. I asked him how far ahead; he said he didn’t know, maybe a few seconds. I told him he HAD to know; every step he’d taken since leaving the precinct and we start now. He wiped his face with his hands and told me he was chasing this guy, he was running toward the street, he’d heard the man’s footsteps and alerted the guy to his being a police officer. He’d then been fired upon and had fired back, but when he reached the street the only person he saw was the girl lying on the sidewalk. We took the route he had taken earlier and arrived out on the street where Frank met us. 

He hadn't been best pleased at being dragged from his bed and yawning remarked that this was a hell of a place and time for friends to meet. He’d been filled in on his way to the scene and I reported that so far we had the very normal actions of a police officer in the line of duty doing what he’s supposed to be doing; that there was nothing to get excited about. I noticed Crocker had dropped his head, something he always does when he’s upset or bothered about something. He asked about the girl and Frank informed us that she’d made it to the hospital. He also added that the Field and Internal Affairs Unit would want to speak to both Crocker and Saperstein, and that neither of them were to say anything until the two of us were finished. Crocker said he wanted to go to the hospital and seeing there was nothing to do until the FIAU guys arrived I offered to drive him there myself. Frank and I looked at one another. It was going to be a long night.

Upon our arrival at the hospital we were taken into a side room where after a long wait a Dr Riddle arrived and showed us the girl’s X-ray. Crocker’s bullet was lodged in the lower lumbar third area, and although there was no longer any danger of haemorrhaging the bullet had caused enough nerve damage to produce paralysis of the lower limbs. Crocker asked if the bullet could be removed, but the doctor replied that it couldn’t, or at rather it wasn't advisable at this time. I asked if that was a life sentence or could the girl appeal it? Riddle replied that more tests were needed, but at this moment things didn’t look very encouraging. The doctor and I looked at one another as Crocker turned and quietly walked out of the room and into the corridor. I followed him a moment later and found him leaning against the wall, he looked close to tears. 

I called to him, using his first name in the hope that I might be able to get through to him. I reminded him that he’d shot an armed criminal in the act of committing a felony. He’d been shot at and had fired back and that’s the way it was. I gently told him that he shouldn’t hold himself responsible. Crocker’s always had a quick temper. I watched as he stiffened and then he looked up and angrily reminded me that he’d shot an innocent girl, that maybe he’d killed her; at the very least he’d crippled her, and unless I was carrying that in MY gut I shouldn’t tell him how to feel. He looked totally devastated and not knowing what else to do I turned and walked away. I noticed as I passed that his fists were clenched and I had the uneasy feeling that if anyone but me had been standing in that corridor they’d now be on the floor. 

Later at the precinct Saperstein and Crocker walked into my office. I tried not to notice how bad the kid looked. It was hard, but work had to come first. The reason for the visit was that they wanted to know if the FIAU guys had said anything to me after they’d spoken to them, or rather Saperstein did; Crocker said nothing, he just stared at the floor. I asked them if they’d finished their reports and Crocker finally looking up replied that they’d just finished them and had turned in the required seven copies. I told them to go home and get some sleep. Saperstein left, but Crocker remained behind leaning against the wall. I was about to say something to him but at that moment Stavros bounced into the room full of the joys of spring. 

I’d ended up asking him to look into Jamie Webb’s background instead of Saperstein because HE'D been busy with his report for the FIAD. Stavros reported that Webb lived alone, and pretty much kept to himself. He'd 'tossed' the man's apartment, but had found no evidence to show that he was part of the team that had committed the fur shop robberies. There was a yellow sheet on him; one 'bank job' in Illinois for which he’d been sentenced to three to five years. He’d been back on the streets for two. Stavros said he would contact the prison and find out if Webb had had any 'friends' there who liked to blast vaults full of furs. 

At that moment the captain appeared in my office. I asked Crocker and Stavros to leave us alone, and watched as my young detective quietly walked away. I remarked that anyone would have thought HE was paralysed instead of the girl. Frank had been checking with the forensics team and they had made some interesting discoveries. It appeared the door at the back of Burbidge’s had been locked from the inside and unless Jamie Webb knew where it was he would never have found it in the dark. Forensics also reported that the phone in the office had been wiped clean. We theorised; 'somebody phones in a tip, one experienced pro gets trapped by a locked door he thought was open, the other one slips away through a door that WAS open and wiped the phone clean’. What we were looking at, we decided, was a case of ‘somebody set up his buddy’. I decided I needed to talk to the girl and headed back to the hospital.

I arrived on the ward to see Crocker standing in the room looking across at the girl, a nurse was telling him off for being a nuisance, and the doctor was yelling something about Diazepam. I asked Crocker what he was doing there. The girl whose name was Polly Ames told me that it was alright, that my detective had come to say he was sorry. I told him to get the hell out of there, and to his credit he left. I walked over to the bed and introduced myself and told Ms Ames that I wanted her to help us to find the man who had harmed her. She replied that he’d just left. I told her that no, Crocker may have fired the gun, but he wasn’t responsible for what had happened. She asked if firing the gun was all he’d done, and why everyone was so upset when she was the only one that got hurt. Some thieves robbed a store and they got away she said. I informed her that only one had got away; the other had decided to shoot it out and he was dead. I thought I saw a slight flicker in her eyes, but it vanished as fast as it had appeared. I asked her if she had seen the face of the man who’d run out of the alley, if there was anything she could remember about him that might help us. She replied that she’d not seen his face; that she’d been out walking and he’d come from nowhere and now she was lying there, like that. 

Something was puzzling me. I asked her what she’d been doing outside the store which is on 7th Avenue when she lived all the way over on 23rd Street. She claimed she’d been out walking because she was a model and it was good for her legs. I thanked her and turned to leave. I heard her call my name and I looked back. She'd pulled the covers off her legs. 

“Aren’t they pretty?” she’d asked. “I can’t feel a thing.” The doctor came back into the room at that moment and I turned and left.

****

For the next two weeks Crocker continued to visit the hospital during his off duty hours. Personally I would rather he’d been at home getting some sleep, but I knew he was terribly upset by what had occurred. Besides he wasn’t exactly doing much when he WAS on duty, and I was getting more and more annoyed with him. What had happened had been an accident: a terrible accident, but Crocker wouldn’t or couldn’t see it that way, and was unable to accept it and move on. More worrying to me was that he seemed willing to risk his career, not to mention his mental health over the incident. I’d called the hospital earlier and the doctor had told me that Crocker had taken it upon himself to break the news to the girl that the results of the tests she'd undergone showed that the bullet couldn't be removed, and she was permanently paralysed. The doctor also told me that there had been no need for her to remain at the hospital and that my detective had taken her home.

****

I yelled for Crocker and receiving no answer wandered out into the squad room. The only person I found was Stavros who was busy spraying 'Cassandra', or whatever his plant’s called. I asked him where Crocker was, he told me he wasn’t in. At that moment Frank walked into the room and looked round at the empty desks. I told him I swear I get more information from my 'stoolies' than I do from my men. He asked what was going on and I angrily told him that when a detective starts providing cover for a colleague it’s not to keep him warm. Stavros said nothing. Saperstein came up behind us and reported that he’d been checking the modelling agencies. Frank was surprised I was checking into the girl, but there was something about her that didn’t add up. Saperstein said he was confused; Ms Ames he said lived in an eight-hundred dollar a month apartment but he couldn’t find out where she’d been working or had worked for more than a day or two here and there. I told him to keep checking, and made some comment about Crocker’s absence. Frank reminded me that I HAD told him to stay close to the girl. I knew that, and I’d also told him he had a very promising career. Now of ALL the things I’d told him I wondered which he was remembering right now.

****

The following morning I met up with Crocker in the locker room. He was changing into his work clothes. I held up a pile of yellow sheets and sarcastically asked him if he knew what they were. Of course he did. I told him his backlog was big enough to choke a horse, and asked him where he’d been even though I already knew. He told me he’d been at Ms Ames’ apartment. I replied that I’d heard he’d moved in. He said the girl needed encouragement; someone to do more than dust the furniture and check her pulse. At that moment Frank appeared in the locker room and I could see Crocker realised we had him cornered. I asked him if he was aware that Ms Ames was living in an eight-hundred dollar a month apartment. Where does she get the 'bread'? Has she got a ‘john’? What’s the story? Crocker looked at Frank and asked him what I was trying to say. If he’d thought the captain was going to back him up he was going to be sorely disappointed. Frank told him to ask me. 

I tried very hard to hold my temper in check and told Crocker that I didn’t know what I was trying to say because there’s a hot-shot detective who’s failing to function. I could see the kid was struggling to keep HIS temper in check and wondered which one of us would explode first. He told me he was going through the motions of being a cop; but he couldn’t investigate a girl he’d almost killed, not with everything going round and round in his head. I then struck below the belt and informed him that if the stuff going round and round in his head was some old wino instead of a mysterious and beautiful chick he’d know exactly what to do. It was a cruel thing to say. I knew Crocker well enough to know that he’d do his best for anyone, no matter what their circumstances were. I just wanted him to snap out of the funk he was in. He looked up and glared at me and told me he was doing his best, but if I kept pushing he’d quit. Angrily I told him that he didn’t shape up I’d request it. It was at that moment he lost it and slammed his locker door closed. Frank called out his name and he instantly froze where he was before storming out of the room. He suggested I give Crocker a leave of absence, but I couldn’t do that. I needed him too much. He asked what for? Crocker is never here he said, and when he is here he’s not all here. Tell me about it I thought.

Frank was clearly as worried about our young detective as I was. I reminded him that Bobby Crocker is a nice kid who still goes to church socials to get dates, and Polly Ames, whoever she is and whatever she is has him completely 'wiped out'. Frank informed me that everyone was watching how we handled things, particularly with regard to the shooting. But I wanted answers. Six-year veteran Detective Third Grade Robert Crocker might be willing to throw away his career because of an accident, but I wasn’t willing to let him.

****

Out in the squad room Stavros was sitting at his desk talking to a large curly-haired lady. He introduced her as Ms Bernadette Fopler, bartender extraordinaire who’d won a competition back in the summer of 1972 with her fruit drink ‘Indian Summer’. Apparently one of her regular customers, a guy from Cleveland had given her the idea for the name of her drink. Neither Frank nor I got what she and Stavros were talking about until we were reminded that Cleveland is where the 'Indians' play, hence ‘Indian Summer’. She said the man's name was Bill, Buzzy, Buffy or something and he was a very close friend of the deceased Jamie Webb. Ms Fopler was unable to describe the guy, stating that in the booze business the colour of the money is more important than the face of the customer. I asked Stavros to try and get a description of the guy from her anyway and to call the Cleveland Police Department. At that moment Rizzo wandered over. I’d sent him over to 'Bunco' to get a list of local 'fences'. Seeing the name Michael's at the top of the list, I decided to take HIM and left Rizzo and the others to tackle the rest.

****

Twenty minutes later I was at Michaels’ Furriers. He wasted no time in reminding me that he used to co-operate but nowadays he’s clean. I wasn’t convinced and offered to take the temperature of the furs on display in his window. I was sure he had the information I was looking for and asked him to concentrate: five out of six heists go like clockwork, a couple of hundred thousand at 30%, he corrected me and said these days it was more like 20%. I asked him who put it together and not just stand there telling me how he’s now retired from a life of crime. He then asked why it was his fault if a cop hits a girl. I smacked him - hard. He then backed down and said he’d heard about the jobs, that it was a couple of out-of-towners. The way he had it figured the robberies were taking place a couple of days after the shops received their deliveries, which meant in each case there had to be someone on the inside. I asked him if he'd ever done business with Jamie Webb, but he claimed he’d never heard of the man until he’d seen his name in the papers. I was impressed: the guy could read! At that moment his phone rang and I left him to it, although I made a point of staring at him through the window for a long while. Then I headed off to an appointment with one of my informants; ‘Sammy the Wino’.

****

Sammy got into the car and I handed him a bottle. I’d contacted him yesterday and asked him to sniff around town for me. He informed me that he’d known Jamie Webb; the man had been a drinker who talked a lot about broads and sports. I asked him about the other guy. He said that all he could find out was that the other man was a very quiet person and nobody seemed to know him. I pointed out that SOMEONE must know him, after all the man’s got to eat and do his laundry. I took Sammy’s booze bottle away from him. He got upset and told me to take it easy, that he knew one of my ‘boys’ was in trouble. I reminded him that I only allow him to walk the streets because he helps, that if he stops doing so I won’t need him anymore. He asked what would be the point of walking the streets if he was dead. I gave him an ultimatum; the other guy or me. Sensibly he chose me, and informed me the guy we’re looking for is called Ben, and the word is he doesn’t care if he kills. Giving him the bottle back I reminded Sammy that he used to be a furrier and asked him to ask around and get me a lead. Reluctantly he agreed and getting out of the car went off about his business

****

I decided it was time I spoke to Mr Burbridge of Burbridge Furs, the place where this latest mess had begun. He seemed pleased that in the past two weeks there hadn’t been any robberies in the entire furs district. I pointed out to him that there’s always someone new coming along; it’s inevitable, like death and cavities. He said it was sad that an innocent girl had been shot. I informed him that she was a model and asked if she’d ever worked for HIM. He didn’t think so, but then as he said he’s more interested in how his furs hang on the model’s bodies rather than their faces. Although he did say the photograph of the girl in the paper reminded him of someone who once worked for him. He thought her name was Phyllis but he wasn’t sure. I asked him about her. He said she’d only worked for him for a day or two; just in time for his new collection to be shown. I asked if he remembered which agency she’d been with, but he seemed to think she’d just walked in, which happens sometimes, especially with the younger newer models; it saves them having to pay commission. Then a light seemed to go on. He now said he DID remember her; she was ambitious he said, and pushy; said she was going to own Central Park, the Trade Center and half of Manhattan all within a year. I looked around the room. Across from us was a young chick with a much older man, they were looking at fur coats. I suggested that maybe this Phyllis had a man too.

Later on I met Frank at Number 1 Police Plaza; home of the NYPD headquarters. As we stood in the elevator I decided to share what I had so far. Polly Ames had come from Cleveland I told him, so had Jamie Webb, and this Ben our mysterious stranger had also hailed from the City of Champions as Cleveland was also known. Each heist had been completed twenty-four hours after Ames’ modelling jobs. Four of those modelling jobs had been assigned by agencies; the other two she’d just walked into, including the job at Burbridge’s. At that point the elevator stopped. The doors opened and Saperstein stepped inside. I’d sent him out to cover the banks, and he’d discovered that Polly Ames had a safety deposit box in a bank on 20th. He’d been over there and had arranged for them to contact us as soon as she came in. He also mentioned that the clerk had said something about Ms Ames visiting her safety deposit box five times. They'd checked the sign-in book, and discovered each visit had been exactly three days after a robbery. 

****

On my way back to the precinct I’d received word from my informant 'Sammy the Wino' that he’d found out the identity of the fence who had bought the furs from the heists. I had the men bring in a selection of known fences. I arrived back at the precinct with Sammy to see if he could ID the man. He picked out my old friend Michaels straight away. I thanked Sammy and sent him on his way and ordered Michaels to be brought to the interrogation room. I left him sitting there stewing while I contacted Assistant District Attorney Angus Moore. I was hoping that if Michaels was offered enough incentive he might spill.

The three of us together with the captain sat in the room with Michaels who was still claiming he no longer fenced furs, and he reminded me that he’d already told me that he hadn’t bought any furs from someone called Jamie Webb. He asked who the other guy in the room was and I introduced him to Assistant DA Moore. I told him the man was there to help him ‘cop a plea’ or hang him. He asked what he could possibly be charged with, so we told him; receiving stolen goods acquired during the commission of a felony murder and grand larceny for starters. He then accused us of ripping up the town just to get Crocker off the hook. Frank angrily asked him if he wanted to know what it would be like to have a division of cops come after him. Sensing he’d lost the argument Michaels backed down and asked what 'arrangement' we would be willing to make for him. Moore told him that if he were to help us nail the gang who stole the furs we would assume he’d had no knowledge Webb and his friend were armed. He’d just take the fall for handling stolen goods. He started to refuse, but changed his mind when I suggested making the charge felony murder instead. Then he started to 'sing'; Jamie Webb had delivered the furs after the heists and he always got paid within three days. The phone rang, it was the bank. It seemed our mystery man had walked in with a notarised entry slip to Polly Ames’ safety deposit box, the clerk had asked him to wait while she fetched some forms and when she returned he’d told her he’d changed his mind and left. I sent for a uniformed officer to take Michaels away and headed back to my office.

I walked through the squad room and was pleased to see that for once Crocker was sitting at his desk. He was currently on the phone. Being the kind-hearted person that he is I hadn't been surprised to hear that Crocker had been consulting with Dr Athiss about an operation to help Polly Ames walk again. He’d obviously remembered the good doctor had recently operated on a fellow police officer who had been shot in the back. The man was now recovering at home having regained full use of his limbs. I also knew that Crocker had told Ms Ames she could sue the city for compensation and she could use it to pay for the operation. The only other person in the room was Stavros, who was showing the prize-winning bartender Ms Bernadatte Fopler some mugshots; she was complaining about the amount of business she was losing. I left them to it. Happy that all was well in my world for a while I headed into my office.

A few minutes later I went back into the squad room to get some coffee. Crocker was in the process of putting on his coat. Annoyed that he was going back out yet again I called him into my office, where the captain also joined us; it was time we told him what we knew about Ms Polly Ames. We told him that she had modelled for each of the fur shops that had been hit, that she and Jamie Webb and our mystery man all hailed from Cleveland and the three of them had recently met in a bar down town; we knew this because Jamie Webb had been ID’d at the bar by the good Ms Fopler. We told him that it had been verified that Jamie Webb was the person who was delivering the stolen furs to a local fence; Michaels of Michaels’ Furriers fame, and that in each instance the fence had ‘paid off’ three days later, and Polly Ames? She visited her safety deposit box on the very same day. We finally broke the news to him: she’d been involved from day one; she was their look-out. 

I could see from the look in his eyes that he didn’t believe us, or rather didn’t want to believe us, but then I saw the expression in those grey eyes harden when he realised Polly Ames had lied and played him for a fool. Angrily he turned and stormed out of the room, almost colliding with Stavros in the process. My rotund friend was excitedly waving a mugshot. Ms Fopler had identified our mystery man: Ben Wiley. I called for Crocker, but Stavros told me he’d just left. I didn’t need to be told where he was going. I headed off after him, hoping I wouldn’t be too late.

As fast as I could I drove through the city to 23rd Street. I arrived at the apartment building and saw Ben Wiley through the window running towards me. Biding my time I slammed the door open and trapped him behind it. Across the foyer Polly Ames had been thrown from her wheelchair and had landed on top of Crocker. Helping her up, we quickly arrested her and Wiley and drove them back to the precinct for processing.

****

Ms Ames was wheeled into the interrogation room where she gave her statement to both me and the captain. Stavros was sitting across the room typing it all up and Crocker was standing in the corner looking at the floor. When she was finished, she signed the typed statement and thus waved good-bye to her chances of suing the city for any damages and maybe walking again. Frank signalled for us to leave Crocker and the girl alone for a few minutes, but even though I was out in the squad room I remained within earshot. I heard him ask the girl if she was alright, and her reply that she was. He then told her to take care and began to walk away. Just as he reached the door she called him back and told him she was sorry she hadn’t met him before all of this happened. He told her that if she had she would have looked right past him to the good looking guys. She told him that wasn’t true. Ignoring the police woman in the room and thinking I couldn’t see he bent down and kissed her good-bye before heading back to his desk.

I walked back into the interrogation room. I looked at her then at Crocker as he passed by and told her she wouldn’t be in prison for ever, that despite everything HE still believed in her, but it would have been better if she hadn’t lied to him. Her eyes were filled with tears when she looked up at me and said that she hadn’t wanted him to find out about her, but she knew that sooner or later he would have. She’d just wanted it to last. I told her the next time she saw him maybe she should tell him, then I turned and left the room.

****

Crocker was sitting at his desk working through his backlog when the police woman wheeled Polly Ames through the squad room on her way down town. I could see her looking at him, willing him to look up at her, but to her disappointment he kept his head down.

The rest of the day had been spent in meetings and it was late by the time I got back to the precinct. A pile of reports was waiting for me on my desk; Crocker, bless him had worked through his backlog and had caught up. I looked round the squad room for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Frank informed me that the kid was exhausted and falling asleep at his desk so he’d sent him home. The adrenaline that had kept him going these past weeks had obviously worn off. 

****

Receiving no response to my knock, I used the key Crocker had given me and let myself into his apartment. Call me an old softy, but I care about the kid and wanted to make sure he was alright. The table lamps in his living room were switched on but other than his jacket and tie draped over the back of the sofa there was no sign of my detective. The kitchen was in darkness, as was the bathroom. Gently I pushed open his bedroom door and found him, still in his work clothes lying on the bed fast asleep. I noticed the bottle of painkillers on the bedside table and remembered before I left the station Stavros had said something about him having a migraine; hardly surprising considering all that he’d been through these past few weeks. I don’t know why I did it, but I picked up the bottle and emptied the contents into my palm. I’d been with him when he’d collected his prescription at the pharmacy and knowing they were particularly strong, I wanted to make sure he’d not done anything stupid. I counted eighteen; the bottle had originally contained twenty, so I knew he’d only taken two. I replaced the pills in the bottle and put it back on the table. It was cold in the room so I gently removed his shoes and placed a blanket over him before quietly walking back into the lounge.

I looked round the room. The last time I’d been here was just after he’d moved in. He’d inherited most of the furniture, including a baby grand piano from the previous tenant who passed away before moving in. At that time there had been little of Crocker in the apartment. Since then he’d painted the walls and hung some pictures: not just sports posters and pictures of cars and models - there were some of those, but some really nice stuff too. He'd also acquired some plants (no doubt from Stavros) and turned the place into a home. I wandered over to the piano. He’d played at Lizzie McNeil’s wedding, but I’d been so busy ‘socialising’ I hadn’t really taken much notice, but plenty of people had told me later how good he’d been.

There were several photographs on the piano; a family group with him, his sister Rose and their foster parents; one of his sister at her graduation: another with his army buddies presumably taken in Vermont because they were dressed for skiing, something they did together every January; an older photograph of him with a group of friends that looked as if it might have been taken at Woodstock. I recognised two of the people smiling at me: Crocker with his hair cut short, ready for his army service and his late friend Benny Marino. There was another photo, presumably taken in Vietnam, of him in his MP's uniform being presented with a medal, and one of him with a little girl I knew to be his god-daughter Bobbie Jackson. Hanging on the wall opposite was a wooden crucifix; beautiful in its simplicity. I remembered him telling me he’d watched it being carved by a blind man while he was in Vietnam and had paid a lot of money to have it shipped back to the States.

Somehow I knew this was a place of peace, and satisfied Crocker was alright I turned and walked back out into the hallway.


End file.
